


Misery

by LetaDarnell



Category: The Hunchback of Notre Dame (1996)
Genre: F/M, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 01:10:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1180124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LetaDarnell/pseuds/LetaDarnell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Esmeralda is sentenced to help Claude Frollo for three months.  Slwoly she learns that he's the one who suffers the most from this.</p><p>This story had no ending.  Suggestions are appreciated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was never supposed to happen. Ever. But God seemingly had had enough that day.  
A man of the law humiliated in front of hundreds of people, a poor boy who had lived his whole life in a cathedral threatened and pelted with garbage, and now, the only one to come to his rescue accused of witchcraft.  
One of these that day would have triumphed had things gone differently. But today, God refused to give aid and seemingly gave up on the holy festival.  
With a flourish, Esmeralda threw a stolen helmet, intending for it to strike a pole behind the new captain’s head. It was obvious he wouldn’t move and the thing wouldn’t hurt him at all. He was in no danger.  
However, the man next to him, the minister whom she had mocked, whom she was trying to ruin, was struck.  
The entire festival was silent as the minister collapsed, clutching his bleeding arm.  
Even Esmeralda was stunned at the sudden turn of events. She didn’t even see him leave in his carriage. All her mind could concentrate on were excuses, it must have caught on my finger, it must have been the wind, he moved on purpose!  
She finally realized that people were moving as something landed on her shoulder.  
The new captain had set his hand firmly on her shoulder, gentle, yet obviously ready to grab her, should she try to escape. “The archdeacon wants to speak with you,” he said.

………………….

The Palace of Justice had been built oddly. The giant monument had been constructed for every gruesome aspect of Justice, including with its back to the grandest cathedral built to God and his virgin mother in all of Paris.  
What was truly strange, though, was how its current occupant had moved himself in. As if knowing far too well that Paris was a city of nowhere in a country barely born, the man had moved himself into a tiny corner of the Palace of Justice. While this miniscule afterthought of architecture was meant for him privately, he had moved into a small, windowless room meant as storage for a family that only existed in the cold wind that blew through the stones. The large, decorated room had been abandoned to the past, considered ancient by those who knew of it and nothing by those who never thought of it.  
It was dark in the room, as always. Claude Frollo was not against using candles; he merely felt no need to light his entire room, small and bleak as it was. This was hardly unusual in The Palace of Justice.  
He say on a thick blanket, once white, now mottled a hideous brown from having soaked up the remains of past injuries over the years. Still, not out of the ordinary, he tried to push away the drowsiness from loss of blood as he did his best to mend a wound caused by an angry vagrant.  
The strangeness was what walked through his doorway, followed by his servant girl.  
“Sir?” the girl asked, barely audible. “She came here with a note from the archdeacon. It says he sent her here to help.”  
Claude looked up. If he recognized the very girl who had dealt the wound, he was hiding it well—or too had no reason to show it and felt emotion was a waste of time. “Leave the note on the table, and do not worry.”  
The maid obediently shot to the table and laid the not elegantly n the desk before worryingly study her master pulling the bandage on his arm tight, waiting for the drowsiness to fade, and then continue.  
“You can trust her,” he said. Esmeralda wasn’t going to kill him, that much was obvious. But that wasn’t the point. The point was there was nothing he could do about any of this. The point was he was about to go through three months of hell, and arguing about it wouldn’t make his stay any easier.  
There was only one tactic that Frollo had found effective against everything that ailed him between the dark air and the cold stones. From illness, to annoyance, to things he wished his heart would forget, he merely tried to ignore it all. Attention was to be saved for his job, where he had meaning still.  
There was a small comfort as he let both his aching arms rest while the gypsy gave a list of polite demands to the servant, who ran away like a songbird catching a glimpse of a cat snoozing in the sun.  
Dizziness had long since taken away his ability to understand directions, and he let himself wobble, struggling to stay up in a battle he knew he’d lose. He let his hand slip and everything was a comforting black just after he felt a hand on his back.


	2. Chapter 2

As Esmeralda wrapped and re-wrapped the bandages around Claude’s arm, all she could think of were how much trouble she had caused. How many people were suddenly feared because she screwed up? Was anyone arrested? She hoped Djali was fine—she was told to leave him in the stables. When could she go home? Could she go home?  
Somehow she automatically reached for new supplies, taking the bowl of water that had never been there before and turning it red over and over as it was replaced constantly before her.  
It wasn’t until she’d finished entirely that she looked up and noticed the maid standing and watching her anxiously. The poor girl looked so worried; she’d stood and watched for hours and looked like she was about to be ill over her concern that Esmeralda was about to murder her master.  
“He should be on the bed,” Esmeralda said. “And he shouldn’t lie on the arm I just splinted.”  
Instead of helping as Esmeralda reached to pull Frollo up, the maid rushed over and shoved Esmeralda away and lifted him up as she gently spoke to him. His eyes opened, but he was far from awake, barely able to walk a few steps before collapsing on the huge bed in the room which Esmeralda hadn’t seen in the shadows.   
The maid stood there, as if waiting for Esmeralda to strike and to helplessly witness a gruesome murder she was too frightened to stop.  
“I won’t hurt him,” Esmeralda said, looking longingly at the bed. “I just… someone should keep an eye on his arm or in case he needs something.”  
The maid fidgeted nervously before answering by squeaking a response. “He always said that gypsy kindness was another act of defiance against him.” The maid turned to leave, half relieved by something—perhaps her words, perhaps his from earlier—and half terrified.  
Esmeralda stood in the dark and wondered what to do. She’d taken care of him, but the archdeacon had said to help him until he was well. She was hated here. She was some sort of murderer that the household accepted with long faces and heavy sighs. There was no anger to talk down, no threats to reprimand, no fear to allay with a soft voice and promises. She was a monster here and she wouldn’t leave until that was changed.  
She crawled onto the amorphous black mass that was the bed and tugged and shoved until Frollo was lying properly on the bed. She felt around until she found a blanket to throw over him. Then she found one for herself and moved to the other end of the bed. Three people would have slept on the bed without ever noticing another, maybe more.  
She was lying next to the wall. There was only the bed, the pallet, a small desk, and a book case crammed into the room. She’d slept in smaller surroundings, but she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d even fit in the room with Frollo without causing a scene.

…………..

Esmeralda awoke to darkness. Either a servant had put out the single candle, or it had given up and died after hours of loneliness.  
As much as she tried, she was unable to get back to sleep. Deciding that there was nothing to do alone in the dark, she tentatively ventured out in hopes of visiting Djali. He always helped her get to sleep.  
To her surprise, when she wandered out into the hall, sunlight was falling through the expensive glass of the windows and the maid from yesterday was happily stocking towels and flowers in the bathroom.  
Now Esmeralda was nervous as she stood just outside of the bathroom doorway.  
“Would you like a bath?” the servant asked. “Is this your first one?”  
Now Esmeralda really felt horrible. In truth, she has never had a true bath, just cleaning herself off with a wet cloth like most peasants. She had never been able to afford a bath. And it was her hesitation that brought this up.  
“Actually…” Esmeralda said. “Actually, Frollo isn’t up yet. I’m worried that something happened, but—“  
Suddenly, the maid began laughing. In fact, she doubled over so much she dropped the towel on the floor to hold her tiny chest. Esmeralda scowled. She was about to point out how horrible the maid was as a person for laughing at her master’s pain, especially when worrying that Esmeralda would try to cause it, when she explained herself. Just in the nick of time, Esmeralda thought. “I thought you knew, especially since you’re a gypsy. He barely sleeps at night, but when something wears him down, especially injuries, he tends to sleep all day. You hadn’t noticed?”  
Again, Esmeralda felt insulted. Why should she notice what happens after someone injures a cranky old man no one liked? Why did her thoughts sound like sarcasm?  
“Is there anything I can do while he’s asleep?” Esmeralda asked. “Can I help out?”  
“Don’t be silly,” the maid said, giggling as she picked up the towel and refolded it. “You’d just make a mess.”


	3. Chapter 3

It was indeed almost a whole day until Frollo woke up. Esmeralda had spent the time in the stables with Djali. For once, he barely managed to cheer her up. The man who brought her meals seemed very uncomfortable with her and more so when she asked after Frollo. He mumbled about why anyone would let her out of the stables as he left, never truly answering her. Djali seemed to be the only one enjoying himself, as he had made friends with a large black horse in the next stable.  
Eventually Esmeralda fell asleep on the hay, listening to the sounds of snoring horses in the darkness. She could find anything comfortable, so long as she could look forward to something better tomorrow.  
This was not necessarily helpful, as she was reluctant to wake up the next day, despite a lot of annoying poking.   
It was the maid again.  
Esmeralda yawned. Halfway through the maid grabbed her wrist and pulled her up and out of the stables. She was yanked up stairs, around halls and finally into the large bathroom. “Is he up yet?” she asked, yawning again.  
“He’s been up for hours,” the maid said, quickly plucking the hay form Esmeralda’s hair.  
“Why didn’t you tell me?”  
“He started work immediately,” the maid said, pulling away from Esmeralda, now that her task was done. “Just now he asked me to get you presentable. You have to take off your clothes in order to have a bath.”  
“Presentable to who?” Esmeralda said as she began taking off her clothes. She was hardly going to get out of this situation by refusing, and the warm water with flower petals looked so innocently inviting she forgot she was in Claude Frollo’s home for a while.  
“He didn’t say,” the maid answered. Esmeralda noticed form her tone that this was no where out of the ordinary.  
Esmeralda decided whatever she was going to do next depended on this mystery mission. Either she would be doing him a favor, or she’d have an opportunity to talk with him. As much as trying to convince him to change would amount to nothing, she could at least discuss whatever he sent her to do, perhaps she could even discuss what she could do while he worked.  
She handed her apron and skirt over to the maid, and tentatively stepped into the water. She couldn’t believe how comforting mere warm water could be. She sighed and slowly lowered herself into the bath, rose petals floating about her bare skin, tickling as they gently bumped against her.  
She immediately began slowly scrubbing herself with the soap on the brim on the tub, building up a thick lather and trying to identify the flowery smell it was infused with.  
Finally, there was no more worrying, no more shunning, no more scowls or scared expressions. Things were going to be perfect, starting with this lovely bath.   
Suddenly water was dumped on top of her. She sputtered and spat as she leaned forward and then flinched as something hard and scratchy began attacking her back.  
“Hold still.”  
Esmeralda let out a deep breath and tried to calm herself. It didn’t work very well. Even though the maid was scrubbing her back for her, even being gentle and very carefully moving her hair to one side, the bath suddenly made her want to retch. She was sitting in her own dirt, the water was nothing more than clear mud with flowers used as a pathetic disguise. And the maid had dumped it all over her.  
That was just the beginning. This was the same tub Claude Frollo bathed in and the same soup his disgusting body touched. She had to share the same soap and rubbed with the same brush that had covered him hundreds of times.  
Esmeralda quietly slipped the soap underwater and threw it to the far side of the tub. She pretended to wash herself until she felt the maid was convinced. Sadly, her reward was the maid dumping more water on her.  
“Your skin is a lot more delicate than the master’s,” the maid commented.  
“You wash his back often?” Esmeralda asked, just before the maid grabbed her hair violently and began rubbing something gooey into it.  
“Times like this, yes. When he’s injured.”  
“It must be horrible!” Esmeralda said. “I’m sorry I made you have to help wash a withered old man. It must be disgusting how he looks.”  
The maid paused in her hard scrubbing for a moment. Then she sighed. She poured more water over Esmeralda, this time gently and in smaller doses, almost meticulously. “He is indeed not thought of as looking very attractive. The poor man is far too thin. And his chest—I could do laundry on it if he’d hold still at something other than his desk. And I doubt the scars would earn him much in a lady’s eye.” The servant continued to pour water over Esmeralda’s hair and wash out what she’d so thoroughly rubbed in. The upper crust made no sense and just lavished in filth and pointlessness, it seemed.  
“Scars?” Esmeralda asked. To her knowledge no one had ever touched Claude Frollo. The only times she heard he’d been injured were from leaping off his horse or hitting someone too hard.  
“He thinks the cat can make him more perfect than God created humans to be.” The maid finally led Esmeralda out of the tub. “I wish I knew where the habit came from.”  
Esmeralda was glad to be out, and never wanted to bathe again. She’s stick to her own ways, the clean ways.  
“There are things some people are never meant to know,” the maid said, and started to dry Esmeralda’s bushy hair.   
The maid handed Esmeralda her clothes and Esmeralda dressed quietly.   
“We should wash those once we find you a spare outfit,” the maid commented. “No one wants to volunteer and I—“ the maid was suddenly embarrassed at her stick-thin figure and flat chest. “—I’m lucky the master was kind enough to take me in all those years ago as a servant.”  
“Kindness? It must be horrible to be forced to wait hand and foot for a man like him!” Esmeralda exclaimed.   
“There as things some people are just never meant to know.”


	4. Chapter 4

The maid had refused to escort Esmeralda. Once Esmeralda was out of the bathroom, the maid left, intentionally oblivious to Esmeralda’s presence, leaving her alone to walk across the dark and gloomy halls and open the door to something far more gloomy.  
Frollo was at his desk, intently studying a book with print that was too tiny for anyone’s good and with scribbles all over the margins. On occasion, he’d jot a frantic note on a piece of parchment next to it.  
“Ahem,” Esmeralda prompted. Or tried to.  
“I know you’re there. You’ll have to wait patiently,” Frollo chided.  
Frollo made Esmeralda wait a whole twenty minutes before even looking at her. He was in no way pleased to have to be burdened with whatever task he was starting.  
“The maid you met was Elsie. You are not to speak to her again. The archdeacon’s note instructs that he will be asking people if we are getting along and if you are helping me, so I do not want her to be telling him how she suspects you’re about to murder me or that I am about to murder her. She hates gypsies and having one forced into her home has not been easy on her.  
“Another servant will be attending to your needs. Giver him orders and be polite, but do not attempt to speak to him about anything else. He tends to sole trouble on his and he could easily consider you trouble. He’ll be waiting in the stables.  
“I have no idea how the archdeacon expects you to help me, but for starters I will be sending you to the cathedral while I finish work. Now go, I have to catch up on this without having to talk to you.”  
Esmeralda felt horrible. When was this going to end? She had suffered through that humiliating bath to be shuffled off somewhere else and blamed for more people hating gypsies?  
“I thought I told you to leave.”  
Esmeralda sighed. It probably was best to try and comfort Quasimodo, as this had all started when she had tried to help him. But this wasn’t over; she was going to convince Frollo she wasn’t like some annoying moth that fluttered around his candle.  
She left Frollo to his work and slowly walked to the stables.  
A young man was standing, as if at attention, and holding a basket with a cloth over its overflowing contents.  
“You may bring your goat, but neither of you is to eat these until we arrive at the cathedral. We will be notified if you do not follow instructions once there.”  
“Whatever,” Esmeralda said, taking the basket. How many people were going to assume she was crazy? “Here, dja—“   
“The carriage is waiting,” the servant said, pulling her out the door. Thankfully, her goat got the hint and followed.  
Esmeralda was escorted into Frollo’s carriage, the servant never taking his eyes off of her and barely taking his hands off, not liking having to do either.  
The servant was completely silent through the ride to the cathedral until she spoke up. He didn’t even say anything when Djali chewed on his foot. In stead, he just pushed the goat away as if it were a stray hair.  
Esmeralda began to wonder about Frollo’s employees. Did they act like this on their own? Had Frollo been telling them lies about how dangerous she was? Did he just hire people who hated gypsies to the point of not trusting them with a rag?  
“Do I make you uncomfortable?” Esmeralda asked.  
“I am Minister Claude Frollo’s stable master,” he said, making the statement as official as he possibly could. “Your pet is a burden, your sleeping in my stables makes my work difficult and uncomfortable, and last month one of you killed one of my best horses as a joke.”  
“But that wasn’t me!”  
“Your own pet was very upset in your absence. The master’s horse has been frantic since his injury, as it has kept him from riding. Recently, it stopped eating. I do not appreciate the person responsible for making one of my favorite pets hysterical and suicidal sleeping in my stables.”  
Esmeralda wasn’t given any time to consider a reply before the carriage stopped and she was escorted out to the steps of the cathedral.   
The stable master said nothing and re-entered the carriage, completely abandoning Esmeralda and Djali.  
Esmeralda quietly entered the cathedral. She wandered around, having no idea what she was doing. What on earth could Frollo himself do here with a picnic? He wouldn’t socialize. Was this a bribe? Was there treasure hidden amongst the food? Was Frollo involved in something corrupt and willing to use her as a tool and hoped to prevent her from discovering what he was up to? Now she was extremely tempted—and hungry. She had to know what was in the basket.  
“Excuse me young girl—“  
Esmeralda whirled around, scaring the archdeacon enough to jump back.  
“It’ not my fault! Frollo sent me here and I don’t know why and I think he’s mean and I’m hungry!”  
“I think I can fix a few of those,” the archdeacon said and put his hand on her back and led her to the back of the cathedral. “I take it he didn’t tell you what you were going to do once you got here.”  
“No, nothing. He didn’t even tell me I had to carry food around… is this for me?”  
“In a sense. That poor boy you rescued yesterday has been missing his father ever since and Frolo could barely visit him on The Feast. I’ve never once been able to convince him he should want Frollo’s company so badly and I don’t think it would be a good idea for either of us to try right now.”  
“You mean this is for Quasimodo?”  
“Oh good, you know his name.” The archdeacon lead Esmeralda up a spiral staircase. “Frollo usually meets the boy every other day or so. I’ve never had the courage to join them when they talk, sadly. Perhaps you can enlighten me someday if you find out.” The archdeacon was quiet after that.  
Esmeralda felt disappointed. After all the secrecy, she thought she had uncovered Frollo smuggling jewels to pay for murder or bribing officials to bring in assassins into Paris and all it turned out to be was supplies for Quasimodo. To top it all off, he’d been visiting Quasimodo with enough food to feed twenty of her people for a day. He must have been brainwashing the poor boy. The archdeacon must be scared that Frollo was beating the poor thing. That had to be the only reason.  
“By the way, try not to scare the poor boy by insulting his father; I doubt he’ll take it well.”


	5. Chapter 5

“Hello?” Esmeralda called out, as she stepped onto the room at the height of the tower. The archdeacon had already started back down the stairs. More and more, Esmeralda hated how it felt to be alone.  
She walked up a small set of wooden stairs, only to be blinded by sunlight striking her directly in the eyes. She squinted and finally gave up and closed her eyes, but not before seeing a slight movement to the right.  
“Where is Master Frollo?” she heard the hunchback asked.  
Esmeralda opened her eyes slightly and tried to adjust to the light. She finally spotted Quasimodo hiding behind a large wooden pillar. “He’s at the Palace of Justice,” she said. Why was Quasimodo asked about Frollo? Frollo was a horrible person to lock him up here.  
“Is he well?”  
Esmeralda opened her eyes fully. The light still stung, but she forced herself to ignore it.  
“He’s… busy. He sent me here to give this to you.” She held up the basket in his direction.  
“Are you going to hurt him again?” He didn’t move from his spot behind the pillar.  
“No. I’m trying to help him. He won’t let me, but I’m sorry.” She lied about the last part.  
Quasimodo stepped out from the pillar. He tentatively approached Esmeralda, taking one step at a time—some of them backwards. When he was within reach, He began reaching for the basket, often pulling back. Esmeralda handed it to him so he could grab it and hold it close.  
“Will he get better?” Quasimodo asked. He led her to a table, slowly due to constantly turning to watch Esmeralda as she followed.  
“Of course he will,” Esmeralda said, hoping her words would convince Quasimodo to share. She hadn’t eaten in days.  
“How can you be sure?”  
“Because I promise to make sure he heals perfectly,” Esmeralda said, surprisingly herself. She hated not being able to convince Quasimodo that Frollo was wrong and cruel and evil.  
“Are you going to see him again, then?” Quasimodo asked, finally handing Esmeralda some of the food he was unpacking.  
“Yef, I yam,” she said through the food.  
“Could you tell him I’m sorry,” he asked.  
“Of course.”  
“Could you ask him to forgive me?”  
“For what?” she asked, too stunned to remember to put the food in her mouth again.  
“For going out,” he answered. “He was right about what would happen. Tell him I won’t do it again.”  
“But don’t you want to see what else is out there?” Esmeralda asked. “Maybe after making some friends or with someone who will protect you? Maybe while it’s dark?”  
“No, I’ve seen enough. I don’t want to be out too often, it would make my mast worry. Besides, I have friends here, and everything else I’d ever need.”  
“You really like him, don’t you?”  
“Of course I do,” Quasi answered, handing her an apple and some bread he’d put jam on. “He’s my father. He gave me so many things and protects me and helps me. He took me in after my mother abandoned me.”  
“She what?” Esmeralda exclaimed, shocked at the news. “No, Frollo killed her on the steps of Notre Dame as she was begging for sanctuary.”  
“Don’t you dare say such things about him!” Quasimodo roared, his huge hand smashing against the table. The strike shook the entire piece of furniture and made the statement that if he wanted, he could rip the thing in two with little effort, and that the table was bigger than Esmeralda. “Get out!”  
Terrified, Esmeralda fled. She ran down the stairs, across the church and all the way back to the stables of the Palace of Justice, where she collapsed next to Djali, weeping. She held her goat tightly as she cried into its fur. Never in her life, not even after injuring Frollo, had she truly felt stupid for her actions. She had no idea what to do, now. She thought she could impress Frollo by befriending Quasimodo. She thought she could impress Quasimodo by telling him she was kind and helping Frollo, proving that the injury was nothing to worry about. Now what would she do? She was stuck here and Frollo would hate her for what she had done. But she couldn’t admit it to him, and she couldn’t go back and apologize. What was she going to do? How was she going to survive here with everyone hating her?—Surely they’d hate her even more now. How would Frollo react? How would the archdeacon? Would the gypsies accept her again after all of this? How could they?  
She had ruined everything she everything she ever had. Just as she was thinking that no one understood how she felt, she spied movement out of the corner of her eye.  
Esmeralda looked up to see the stable master watching her, still acting as official as an officer and standing straight enough to shame any tree. Strangely, he didn’t seem as offended as yesterday.  
“You’re his friend, aren’t you?”  
“I am his stable master.”  
“But you care about him, don’t you? You want him to be happy, right?”  
“Indeed. Is this important, or are you merely delaying me from my duties?”  
“I did something horrible! I want to make it up to him and I don’t know why! Tell me what to do!”  
“He doesn’t trust you anyway. Don’t worry about it.”  
“So he never will?”  
“He only trusts the best. He wouldn’t have trusted you in the first place.”


	6. Chapter 6

The feeling of guilt and cowardice, exacerbated by the stares of the stable master finally drove Esmeralda back up to visit Frollo. No one was about. No servants ventured beyond the work areas save for Elsie, whom Esmeralda was not to interact with anyway. The small girl was nowhere to be found, just like the rest.

She forced herself up the stairs, turned, and opened the door… into a room she’d never seen, let alone expected in the Palace of Justice.

The room was nothing but contrasts, sharp pieces that refused to fit together. The air was stifling and smelled stale and the room obviously abandoned for ages, yet cleaning had been done constantly and everything was bright; someone had tried to keep everything in this room looking new. 

The pale orange rays of the sun shone through expensive glass panes in large curtained windows. The curtains were soft and almost glittering, made of expensive imported silk, but the light shining through was bland and disheartening and the gossamer fabric was frayed and attached to a framed of hard, sharp lines that threatened to cut at the touch.

The room was obviously once owned by Frollo. Although the shock of the room was still there, and Esmeralda had forgotten even why she had come in, it was obviously his room. His touch was obvious in the portrait on the wall, and subtle in the tiny, yet simplistic cross and lack of most decoration, not to mention the color scheme.

She began to explore the room in a clockwise direction, barely noticing anything that wasn’t in front of her.  
Unlike the room Frollo now occupied, there was a grand fireplace, taller than he was, just like in the grand hall. Save for the charred grate and the blackened tile, though, all evidence of its use had been removed.

After that was the sad-looking window. Beyond that was a small wardrobe with intricate carvings. Eager to see what lay beyond, Esmeralda quietly opened the doors. Her curiosity was rewarded with several beautiful dresses, the colors having faded in the ages, leaving only dreams of what they were like behind.  
Esmeralda plucked one from its place and held it up to herself, only for her vision of herself as nobility replaced with a feeling of being too big and too wide, much like the nobles themselves who let their appetites turn them into figures resembling blobs of melting lard.

She held the dress away, shocked at its offensiveness, only to realize, the true size of the dress. It had been made for someone much shorter, with barely any endowment to the chest, no hips and barely any defined waist.

Esmeralda set the dress back, suddenly wondering why Frollo would have colorful dresses made for a large child. The question remained as she walked a spade that obviously once contained his large bed, how it had been moved she had no idea or longing to know the boring details of. There was a small table with a stool. On the table were boxes of makeup, perfume, expensive soaps and oils, and jewelry, each just like the other, dark and faded in color and scent. Not even the mirror standing on the table hinted at any answers to the questions she had now.

What answered too many questions, and left too many more were the last two things she found. The first, which she’d assumed was a linen basket or bench, turned out to be the most horrifying thing she’s ever though could be in the vicinity of the Palace of Justice and something she could never dream could exist within it: a cradle. Esmeralda had always had some pity for the minister; he was friendless, he was unhappy, and the only way he could become close to that was in hurting others. But she had never thought it possible for her heart to ache for such a man.

She held her hand to her mouth and stifled back tears as her hand gently touched the cushioned floor of the cradle. There had never been a body to dent the pillow and the sheets had always remained cold throughout their existence.

As her fingers touched the pillow under the headboard, they felt something solid underneath. She pulled out the strange object—which turned out to be two—and held them in her hand: wedding rings. Esmeralda stared and contemplated the rings for a long time, one thing and boring, the other thin and finely decorated with etchings and smaller than her own pinky, a man’s and woman’s respectively.

Something colorful caught her eye and she looked up. The only thing that had not faded in time was an old painting. At first she had thought Frollo to be arrogant enough to have a painting of himself on a wall, but it turned out to contain another figure: the woman who owned the tiny dresses. Tiny, thin, and very blond, the girl who was just barely growing into womanhood chastely held the future minister’s hand. 

He wore an old houpeland that was outdated even by the time the painting could have been made, likely something he had just inherited. Esmeralda almost laughed, seeing Frollo at a time that his hair was still black. She noticed the girl seemed more confident than he, and there was something missing form his eyes that he owned now. No cunning, no drive, no malice… whatever it was, she did not know.

Esmeralda placed the rings back and quietly slipped out the door. She had forgotten what she was going to do, save for seeing him.


	7. Chapter 7

Esmeralda quietly walked into Frollo’s room and closed the door silently. He was just as she’d left him, with a few worrying details. He looked exhausted, the shadows under his eyes deeper, his eyes colored pink from being bloodshot. There were piles of scribbled notes al over his desk and he was at the very end of his book.

She waited for him to finish, or at least present a good opportunity to speak to him. Unfortunately, she got the former, rather than the latter.

Frollo suddenly slammed the book shut, the noise echoing through the tiny room and sending Esmerlada jumping back into a corner. She cowered, trying to squeeze closer and closer to the wall as he threw the book across the room, telling in frustration at it.

Finally her opportunity showed up, as afterwards he settled into a scowling silence.

“What in the world was that about?”

“Why would you care?” he asked, scowling at the floor and wiping his messy hair from his brow in a futile attempt to resume his elegant appearance.

“I was sent here to help you. I can’t help you if you do nothing but hate me all day,” Esmeralda scolded.

“This is something you would never understand.”

“How would you know? All you do is hate people! At least the archdeacon tries to help.”

“Yes, all I do is keep murderers and rapists from harming anyone again,” he said, crossing his arms. He did not want to have this conversation. He did not want to have any conversation right now.

“Is that what this is about?” as asked, putting her hand on his shoulder

“That isn’t the slightest bit what this is about,” he grumbled, shoving her hand off. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“I would never have believed the people who work for you cared about your well-being before, either, or that you valued your horse so much. Perhaps if you explain it to me, I’d understand.”

“A young apprentice has been on trial for the last three days for witchcraft,” he said, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “The sentence for witchcraft is death. A lot of evidence is faulty and its obvious his master is lying about his age, but I need to prove those things or find a loophole and there isn’t one in three bloody books that I can find!.”

“But you’re a judge, can’t you just say they’re lying?” Esmeralda asked.

Frollo buried his face in his hands. 

“First of all, I am not a judge. I am a Minister. I am not in charge of cases save for rape, murder, and adults performing witchcraft. Second, I can’t just go around stopping things because I ‘feel’ that someone is lying. Then I’d be who you think I am.”

Esmeralda squirmed uncomfortably under that comment.

“How long have you been reading up on this?” she asked. She suddenly realized she was too tired for this conversation.  
“Before dawn.”

Esmeralda had dealt with this before. She didn’t want to admit it to him, but there had been countless times she’d had to make Clopin give up on rescuing a gypsy. There was no hope, and the life was lost. She wondered if she’s hate herself in the morning as she had sometimes before by doing the same with Frollo. She wondered if he’d feel the same about himself later. Did he just accept it eventually, or shrug it off? Or did he secretly keep it from everyone and hate himself for it still?

“What time is it now?” she asked. Honestly, she was very hungry. It was very dark when she’d left the stable and despite just meandering around the secret room, she’d spent quite some time there.

“Almost dawn…” he said, wondering whether he should complete his comment. He shot her a frightened and confused glance. It was obvious he wasn’t used to watching what he said. 

Esmeralda wondered if he ever spoke to anyone besides Elsie or the stable master outside of work.

“…I might go watch it. It helps me think.”

“Let’s watch it together,” Esmeralda said, pulling on Frollo’s hand. Reluctantly he let her pull him out of his chair and drag him through the hall to a balcony.  
Esmeralda let loose his hand and, despite her intentions to take advantage of this opportunity to watch the dawn and not for soldiers for once, she was lost in thought. She had never noticed the Palace of Justice had a vantage pint to watch the main streets of Paris. From here she would see most of the city, the parts that were considered important at least—important to people with money and power. How many times had he seen her? From here, he could se all her favorite dancing spots, as well as the market place, the town square, and… the gallows. Perhaps this wasn’t the best idea.

Frollo gave no indication that anything bothered him. He just stared off into space like a cat… a very grumpy cat. Yet, some sense of calm—though in no way a sense of peace—slowly flowed over him, starting with the white, blinding flash as the sun burst above the horizon, piercing the gray sky. Frollo never glanced at the people starting to walk and work in the streets, but watch instead as the sky blued and the white halo around the sun dimmed, letting the yellow ball of fire in the sky claim its own colors.

“It’s always the same dawn,” Frollo whispered.

“And yet you like to watch it,” Esmeralda said, turning to him. “I think that’s—“

Frollo wasn’t in agreement with whatever she meant to say. He was embarrassed and upset about accidentally musing out loud.

“You don’t look well. You should sleep.”

“I was asked if there was a way to have the poor boy excused. I cannot just let the poor boy die.”

“Who asked you to do it?”

Frollo looked away, again watching the sun. “A judge who… was never fond of my promotion.”

“Then he knows there’s no way to save the poor boy.” Esmeralda wondered if it was worth it to treat Frollo like Clopin. Should she really reassure someone whom she hated? In fact, she was telling him not to try to save someone from the gallows. But then, did she like watching him suffer and hate himself? What would that accomplish? How would that help anyone, especially her own people? How would that earn any sort to forgiveness? He probably still found her a nuisance and annoying. In fact, he didn’t like speaking to her about anything save for yelling at her about how she was wrong.

It was probably best to help him , even if it meant someone would die… they’d die anyway, she figured. Frollo was right and she didn’t want to make herself dwell on that fact. He shouldn’t be the monster she thought he was and use his power wrongly… even if it was right to do so.

“You should get some sleep. There’s no point in looking embarrassing in front of a rival when they know you can’t do anything.”

She reached out to take his hand. At first he pulled away immediately out of reflex, but then gave it back to her for her lead him to the bedroom with another upset and embarrassed expression.

Halfway through the hallway, he stopped, refusing to go further. “Why are you doing this?”

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” she said. I promise. “Now let’s go to bed.”

“Us?”

“I’ve been sleeping on the other side of your bed. It’s not like I expected you to notice.”

He finally let her lead him to the bedroom.

“Are you disappointed?” she asked.

“No, I’ve shared m bed with a gypsy before,” he said. He rubbed his eyes and sat on the bed. He was about to ask for privacy to change, when he noticed she was looking at him oddly. “I said that aloud, didn’t I?”

Esmeralda nodded. She could see he was averse to even letting her know and hated that he’d let the information slip already, but if it was anything she could soothe or promise meant nothing, she needed to know of it. He was obviously debating whether answering or not would cause the most rumors about his sex life.

“I need you to leave; Elsie will aid me and she wouldn’t want you in the room at the time.” He leaned over to a tiny nightstand and rang a small bell whose noise was barely audible. “Out,” he said, rather politely.

Esmeralda left the room and stood outside the door. She did not have long to wait, as Elsie, somehow having heard the tiny bell, came up the stairs, perfectly prepared to help her master after dawn.

She passed Esmeralda without letting the gypsy know she thought she was even there. She dashed into the room, resembling some sort of obedient mouse.  
Out of boredom, and concern—though she did not know for whom—Esmeralda leaned against the door to listen. She couldn’t make out what either one was saying, but both sounded worried, and she could swear her name came up several times.

However, she could not make anything out and soon there was a long period of silence. Esmeralda pulled away from the door and soon Elsie left, practically flying down the stairs to get away from her.

Esmeralda slowly opened the door, wondering what was so important that she needed to leave. Frollo was sitting on the bed, smoothing out a sleeve of his nightdress.

“Tha’ts all?” Esmeralda asked. “You just needed to get undressed?”

“I know very well that you wouldn’t want me naked in front of you; do not mock me.”

“You don’t trust me to just turn around?”

“Of course not,” he scoffed.

“Who was the gypsy you… knew?” Esmeralda asked, crawling onto the bed.

“I’ll tell you tomorrow,” he said, lying down and throwing the blanket over himself.

“You promise?”

“Go to sleep.”


	8. Chapter 8

Esmeralda awoke to realize there were worse things than waking up after Frollo. As she slept in the cold, unheated room, even with the use of thick blankets, she’d sought out more heat to keep herself from shivering.

Thankfully Frollo had noticed none of this and was still contentedly asleep. Also thankfully, she’d moved away before she had awoken, leaving only her arm draped over his shoulders.

With great care, Esmeralda lifted her arm and pulled it away, then placed the blankets over him.

Sitting up, Esmeralda wondered what to do. She doubted she should wake up Frollo, but she was starving. Hoping for an answer, gruff as it may be, she headed downstairs to the stables, no doubt someone else was hungry as well.

The stable master was brushing the horse belonging to the new captain and did not care for Esmeralda’s presence the second she showed up on the corner of his eye.

“I’m sorry to bother you—“ she started.

“Don’t move!” he yelled.

Esmeralda obeyed, holding still as she did her best to look around to find the reason for his outburst. She notice a large black spot growing at the edge of her vision. The spot quickly turned into the giant muzzle of Frollo’s personal horse. She knew the horse was a gargantuan breed, but she’d never expected it to be this big… or even this close.

The horse pushed its nose at her face and blasted hot, gooey breath at her as it sniffed her intently. It spent a good while doing so. The horse moved its nose over her face and hair, even venturing to sniff down her shirt. Once it was satisfied in inspecting her scent it leaned over and hooked its neck over her shoulder and pulled her closer, draping his large head over her chest.

The stable master immediately left, abandoning Esmeralda to the horse, who stared miserably into her eyes  
.  
“It’s okay,” she timidly told it, hoping to cheer it up without causing damage or startling it. Careful to keep out of it’s face, the lifted her hand to pet the horse’s long mane. Surprisingly, the horse—Frollo’s horse, nuzzled against her in appreciation as she continued to pet it and brush it’s hair.

Esmeralda realized that as lonely as she had been, the horse had been moreso. Frollo was all it had. True, there was the stable master, but me merely cared for the animals, he wasn’t who the horse wanted. It missed the Minister, it missed affection just like she was giving it—somehting she never thought Frollo capable of, it missed being ridden—it hadn’t been outside for the last few days whatsoever, it missed being spoken to and appreciated for helping, it missed being spoken to. It missed a certain person and Esmeralda knew no one else could replace him and unlike her, the horse had only one person who could cheer it up.

Soon the stable master returned to hand her a loaf of bread, eyeing her suspiciously as he did. “Your goat wants nothing but attention and food. Animals tend to act like their masters.”

Esmeralda wanted to take offense at being told she was just like Djali, but she decided it would be to her advantage to get food this way. It kept her fed and she didn’t bother Frollo. Besides, his horse was very kind for some reason. She decided to keep the horse in a good mood and tore off a piece of bread found the horse very obedient and gentle about taking treats. No doubt Frollo wouldn’t tolerate an animal that bit him in greed.

Jealousy, Djali ran up to her, demanding not to be replaced. The horse bent down and nipped at the goat, who didn’t jump away, but bleated happily at the act.  
“At least you managed to make a friend around here,” Esmeralda said, feeding Djali a bit of her bread. 

“Do you always give away food?” the stable master asked, his usual disdain thicker than usual. “I thought it was hard to come by for you people.”

“I don’t find any point in making others suffer. Especially when those I help will help me in turn.”

“You are far too trusting for your position,” the stable master scoffed. His dislike of her was growing with every sentence.

“I just know people,” Esmeralda said, eating the bread and alternating between petting her goat and Frollo’s horse.

“Then you are far too judging and I want you out of my stables!” he yelled, turning from the horse.

“But I—“ she started, meekly backing away.

“What’s going on?” someone new asked.

They both turned to see the new captain standing in the open doorway leading outside.

“You’re still here?” the captain asked Esmeralda. 

“I’m supposed to be here,” she answered back.

“Should I be worried about that?” the captain asked.

“No, I think I’ll be fine,” she said.

“Does this mean I should be worried about him?”

Esmeralda sighed. Not even the new captain—who had offered to stop the abuse to Quasimodo and sat there as she humiliated the minister—trusted her.

“Do you really think I’d do him in?”

“Well, I would keep sharp objects from you if you were in my house,” the captain admitted, obviously as frank as he was going to get.

“I’m not going to do anything. I didn’t even mean to hit him.”

“Well, it looked like I needed to worry about someone, and I still don’t think having you around him is a good idea.”

“Keeping him here certainly isn’t a good idea,” the stable master said, drawing Esmeralda’s attention to him. As much as he—and she herself somewhat—wanted to debate her notorious statement, she was good at finding clues if people left them around themselves. Esmeralda recognized that angry, yet dreamy look in his eyes. “I’m not as… patient as the minister is.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll stick around for a bit,” the captain said.

“You don’t know much about the minister, for a captain,” Esmeralda said, going back to her bread.

“I was in the war until a week ago.”

“The Burgundians again?” the stable master asked.

“Yeah. Were you in the previous war with them?”

“Two of them…”

Esmeralda watched as the two completely forgot about her, save for the occasional glance, seemingly more to make sure the stable wasn’t on fire, than actual care for her presence—or they could be the same thing.

She was a good judge of people. It was only that the minister was very good at deceiving people that he had deceived himself. No wonder she had no idea what kind of person he was. Perhaps the stable master could help her figure things out. Frollo didn’t seem interested in giving her any clues or to stop believing his own lies.

Esmeralda waited for the captain and the stablemaster to finish their discussion. They were discussing battle tactics—as far as she could tell, and that was as much as she could decipher of their conversation. 

Time passed, she finished her bread, and the horse became less interested in her despite her constant affection. Eventually she left the stables to see what Frollo was doing. He was infamous for not sleeping; the bags around his tired eyes were used as proof of the legends about his sleeping habits no matter how fantastical the actual story.

As expected, Frollo was up and busy. He had no idea how close they’d been that night. Hopefully things would stay that way.

Frollo was struggling to dress himself, having done quite well so far. He was in his hose and undershirt and had untied his sling in order to slowly tie this sleeves of his purple doublet over his injured arm.

“Would you like some help?” Esmeralda answered, trying to sound as polite as possible.

Frollo shook his head, concentrating on the thin strings, wincing as he pulled one of the ties.

“Do you need help?” she asked, dropping her polite tone.

Frollo just glared at her in response.

Esmeralda sighed. She headed over to him and took the strings from his hand and mouth. Quickly she loosened most of the loops on his sleeve and then tightened them, tucking in his undershirt and keeping them loose enough to prevent hurting his arm. 

As soon as she had fastened and tied his tight purple sleeves, he pushed her away, grabbing his robe off the bed where he’d left it with the rest of his clothes for dressing. Just because he needed her help didn’t mean he wanted her around.

“What are you waiting for?” he asked, putting on his robe with one-handed ease.

“I have nothing to do,” Esmeralda replied, keeping her attitude down.

“There is a list on the desk, go bother Antoine about it.”

The list wasn’t hard to find. Frollo had moved all his papers into a haphazard, lumpy pile that only severed to make his worked load more chaotic and overwhelming. However, it did leave a lot of room for the list, which sat in the middle of the cleared space; its lonely placement some sort of defiant, angry act against her.

“What--?”

“That’s nice,” Frollo said, grabbing his hat. Adjusting a few details, he walked out the door, closing it on her.


	9. Chapter 9

Go here. Go there. Was this was all of Frollo’s servants had to deal with? He probably just wanted to make her too dizzy to deal with him. She grabbed the list daintily made her way to the stables.

“Antoine?” she greeted him cheerily.

He looked at her sternly and turned back to his work. Technically he was warming up.

“He gave me a list of—well, can you read?”

“It is probably things to buy for his son,” Antoine said.

“His son?” Esmeralda asked.

“You injured him trying to defend his son,” Antoine said, trying to focus on the horse more than her. He hoped she’d get in line and realize how low a priority she was to him.

“Oh…” Esmeralda said. “Shouldn’t we go and…um…whatever?”

“In time,” Antoine said. “If you aren’t going to injure them, you may help with the horses.”

“I don’t think so,” Esmeralda said. She thought she could easily convince humans to see her ways, but animals only liked her if they wanted to and these horses knew who fed them. It wasn’t her.

She stood in the doorway, trying to seem polite despite her boredom, and wondering what she could do for entertainment. Eventually Djali came up to her, complaining the horses were getting more attention than he was getting.

“Why did the horse smell him on you?” Antoine suddenly asked, his tone caustic and accusing.

“Why shouldn’t he?” Esmeralda asked.

Antoine fiercely glared at her. “What have you done to him?” he screamed. His hand shot to his knife on his belt

Esmeralda cowered as Djali bleated to defend his owner. “I haven’t done anything! He’s too cranky to let me even talk to him.”

Antoine slowly turned away and his hand left his knife, returning to the horse which was thankfully too lazy to join in the fight, impatient to be brushed. “He has his secrets. Leave them be. Don’t bother him with your heathen ways. Don’t touch him.”

Esmeralda wanted to fight him, but she knew he’d win, going to violence immediately and she’d never understand what he was talking about even if she could survive. “I was cold last night. There was a blanket between us. Please don’t tell anyone.”

“I don't meddle in problems that aren't his,” Antoine muttered. He was finished with his work, yet he turned back to the horse, petting just to have something that liked him better than her.

“Is there anything to eat?” Esmeralda asked, snapping the silence between them like a twig.

Antoine whirled around and seethed at her as if she had stabbed him. He sighed, somehow more irritated with her than half a second ago. 

Esmeralda stepped back, only to be nudged closer by the horse, which whimpered at her for trying to leave.

“Did you ask anyone in the kitchen?” Antoine asked.

“No, they seemed too busy and didn't seem like they'd like me enough to listen,” Esmeralda said, wondering if she should feel guilty.

“A good idea,” Antoine said. It was an actual compliment, leaving Esmeralda too stunned to reply. “I'll find something. No doubt there will be trouble for him if no one feeds you.”

Esmeralda just stood and watched as he left and turned towards the kitchen.

When he returned, he found her kneeling on the floor, gesturing at her goat to tell him to dance in circles. He considered the whole thing useless, but at least he could turn his back on her...so long as he had what she wanted.

He handed her a small loaf of bread as he walked past, not stopping to eat one for himself until he was several feet away.

Esmeralda ignored Djali as she leapt up Esmeralda's leg and begged and tore off the largest bite she could. It was the sweetest, smoothest bread she had ever tasted. No one had even managed to steal bread this good from the bakers. It was even too good, stinging her teeth at first, yet her mouth slavered at the thought of more.

“This is amazing!” Esmeralda cried out. She wanted to share the food with the animals again, but she found herself stuffing her mouth with a much of the loaf as possible first.

“It's bread,” Antoine scoffed. “I'll be getting the cart ready.”

“Sorry, Djali,” Esmeralda said, petting the goat as it jumped at her leg to beg for bread. “It's all gone.” The horse bent down to nuzzle the smaller creature, as soon Esmeralda would be gone as well, traveling for the day with a man who hated her existence.


End file.
